


The Fire Don't Know

by Kat



Series: A soul that's born in cold and rain [2]
Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: M/M, Sickfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-21
Updated: 2019-10-21
Packaged: 2020-12-27 17:27:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,916
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21122531
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kat/pseuds/Kat
Summary: Wherein Junkrat is feeling off and Roadhog says I told you so.





	The Fire Don't Know

Junkrat shifted uncomfortably in his chair - he’d been sitting too long and his hip was protesting. He erased the last line he’d drawn. No. Not there. He made another handful of lines, then crossed them out. Not the right wires. He crumpled the paper, dropped it on the floor. Something was niggling at the edge of his thoughts. Itching, like wires connected wrong and sparking. He rubbed his hand over his hair like that would help. What was it? Something forgotten? Something he was supposed to do? Somewhere he needed to be? He frowned, leg jittering, thoughts jittering. They were in between jobs - maybe that was the problem? But he couldn’t… couldn’t _focus_. No, it was something else. He pushed himself up and began to pace, prosthetic tapping hollowly on the wood.

“Roadie,” he said suddenly. “We got plans?”

Roadhog looked up from where he knelt by his chopper, adjusting the valves. The thing always needed work to keep running. He shook his head slightly. 

Not that then. “Bloody hell.” He reached up, gripped his hair, tugged. “There’s something… I’m forgetting. Or … Somewhere I’m supposed to be....” The sharp pain usually settled him, cleared the smoke from his mind. Not today. He coughed, lightly. Thinking of smoke, smelling smoke, made his throat tickle. “Maybe just need to blow somethin’ up.”

“...” Roadie wiped his hands, started putting his tools away.

“Good. Good then. I’ll get ready.” Never knew when Roadie would decide he couldn’t have what he wanted. And what he wanted right now was a lovely explosion or several. Little mayhem, little destruction. That would get rid of the itchy feeling, settle his body. Explosions always grounded him - well, except when they sent him flying instead, he giggled to himself - the concussive force, the blast of light and heat… jarred all his pieces back into their right places. 

By the time they’d driven far enough that they wouldn’t be drawing every roaming cop or bounty hunter looking to make a quick haul to their place, the sun had disappeared below the horizon and the air had grown cool. Junkrat noticed the change only peripherally as he set up a perimeter of mines and double checked the fuses. He wouldn’t waste many, just enough to get himself together. 

Anticipation sent a shiver up his spine and he tossed a grenade at the first mine with a high pitched giggle. The blast sent a wave of heat across his body, the following boom echoing in his head, his chest. The second and third sent him back a step or two. Bloom of flames bright, shining in the darkness, flowering cloud of smoke and dust rising overhead - explosions rocked him back on his heel, almost enough to knock him over, if not for Roadhog’s hand at his back, keeping him upright. The wind from the blast was hot, dry, felt like it would blister his skin, chasing the night’s chill from his bones.

“Perfect,” he laughed. “Bloody perfect.” Yes, this was what he needed, everything in his body had been shaken down, grounded. The edginess blown out and somewhere else, and with it the frantic energy. He felt himself deflating. The wind shifted; the smoke left from the explosions drifted into his face, setting his nose itching. 

“Ugh.” He scrubbed his nose with a fist, but the itching wouldn’t let up. He ducked his head as a sneeze tore through him. “_Aaarishh-ishh!_” Shiver, gasp, another… “_Ah’rissh-ishh!_” A sniff. “Think my face exploded,” he giggled, amused at the idea. Less amused that his nose still tingled. Enough, he told himself. No need to sneeze yer face off. 

Roadhog tilted his head questioningly. “...” 

“What’re you on about? ‘M completely fine. Just a bit of smoke.” As if to strengthen his case, he waved a hand in front of his face.

Tall as Junkrat was, Roadhog had near a meter on him and he made every bit of it count as he tilted his head down to study Junkrat intently. “...” 

“For a quiet bloke, ya got a lot to say,” Rat grumbled. “Said ‘m fine. Leave it.” The giddiness of the explosions leeched away quicker than he would have liked, taking warmth with it. He shivered, tried to suppress it so Hog wouldn’t notice. There was a terrible suspicion growing and he’d be damned if he gave into it.

Suddenly an engine revved and it wasn’t the chopper. Adrenaline shot through him, lighting up all the places that had gone dark. “Bloody hell,” he said but laughed. “If they think they’re gonna catch us with our pants down, gonna find out different.” 

As the sound drew closer, Junkrat laid mines across the dirt track that was the road, then hopped onto the bike, wrapped his arms around Roadhog’s waist and leaned in as the bike shot forward. He tossed a glance over his shoulder as headlights winked into view. “Should be any second,” he said, tapping Roadhog’s back in warning.

A flash blinded him for a moment then the sharp crack-boom and a plume of smoke and debris shot skyward. The headlights winked out.

“Fuck yeah!” He threw a fist in the air, then caught sight of another chopper heading toward them from the side. Not cops then, bounty hunters. Better. Easier to get rid of ‘em. His body leaned in tandem with Roadhog’s as the motorcycle veered sharply to the left, positioning them in easy firing range. Junkrat yanked his frag launcher free and sent a volley of grenades toward the hunters. “Fire in the hole!”

While blowing shit up for the sheer pleasure of watching the world burn was fun, destroying people who were out to get them? Well, that was _fun_. The explosions fizzed through his blood, rang in his ears, louder than his own laughter. The few return shots the hunters got off before they were sent flying no more than annoying mozzies. And then it was just the two of them, roaring through the darkness, the wind clearing the smoke and soot from the air, and Junkrat’s heart beating a triumphant tattoo against his ribs. He leaned his head on Roadhog’s back, the leather warm on his cheek.

He was just beginning to doze, when the chopper made an odd coughing sputter and died. Roadhog guided the bike to the side of the road and they both stood for a moment, just looking at it.

“Well, that’s a fine how’d’ya do.” Junkrat tried to sound put out, but it was hard to dredge up the energy for his usual attitude. He’d been struck with insomnia for too many days, sleeping too few hours since Hog’d gotten sick. Only the wog, but Rat worried it might go into his lungs and worsen. Fortunately a few days of sleep and a bit more hogdrogen than usual and Roadie’d been back to himself. 

Was gonna be a slog back to the hideout, if Roadhog couldn’t fix the bike. Just thinking about it made his body ache. He rubbed his leg where it connected to the prosthetic. Long walk, long night. Maybe he could just sprawl out and nap while Roadie worked. Rat had been looking forward to crashing in bed for a change, rather than wherever he happened to drop, but beggars couldn’t be choosers. “Can ya fix it?”

“Not here. Too open. Let’s move.”

Junkrat nodded, swallowing the urge to complain. Roadhog had a point - they’d not been exactly inconspicuous. The explosions might bring other hunters, might bring cops. Couldn’t just sit and let them come. So Junkrat walked, and let Roadhog push the bike - he was the bodyguard after all. No need to make the brains of the operation push.

A sharp breeze gusted from the east, carrying an edge of winter. Junkrat clenched his muscles against a shiver. Least it was dark enough that it wouldn’t be noticed. He hoped. His nose itching again, he sniffled against the sensation. It didn’t help. Dammit. He scrubbed his nose with the back of his hand but it was a losing battle and he knew it.

Junkrat ducked his head, pinched his nose and managed to stifle the sneeze completely, even though it felt like he blew his eardrums out the sides of his head. Didn’t do much to get rid of the itch either and he had to duck his head against another sneeze right after. Ugh, it was like a bomb going off in a closed room, the reverberation rattled his skull. He sighed, wishing it would ease the pressure in his sinuses, but not so much. He was uncomfortably aware of Roadhog’s attention as he struggled against another sneeze.

“G..got somethin’ t’say, mate?” He knew he shouldn’t rise to the bait, especially when the sneeze was still deciding whether to happen, but the prickling in his nose was making the rest of him prickly too.

Roadhog shrugged.

“Then mind yer business.” He just managed to get it out before the sneeze decided yes it was happening and when he stifled this time he was pretty sure his brain exploded. Much less fun than the grenade kind.

Roadhog didn’t comment, but Rat could feel everything he wasn’t saying like sparks against his skin. Fuckin’ bastard, always with the criticism. Rat crossed his arms over his chest wishing he’d decided to actually wear a shirt for a change and pushed himself to walk faster even as his leg protested. Maybe they’d make it back before things got worse.

The moon rose over the edge of the horizon, bright and full. Would help in finding somewhere to hole up, but wouldn’t do them any favors in the not-obvious department. He darted sidelong glances at Roadhog, trying to gauge how much he suspected, and how bad the bike situation was. Hog had his head down, clearly focused on the motorcycle. Rat sniffled, rummaging through his pockets for anything that he could use to blow his nose. Lint, random lengths of wire, a handful of screws, a tiny screwdriver, a piece of mine casing and a grenade pin. Not helpful. He sniffed again and rubbed his nose with the back of his wrist, ignoring the slight wetness.

“There.” Roadhog said, startling Rat. He nodded to the left where wind and water had carved lunettes in the rock back before the Omnium had exploded and everything had gone to shit. They followed the ravine for a ways until Roadhog decided they were far enough from sight that they could be safe, at least for the time being.

Stopping was nearly worse than walking, Junkrat decided as he dropped gracelessly to the ground, wrapped his arms around his knees and rested his head on his arms. The metal arm was cool on his forehead. His leg was killing him, the skin where it connected to the prosthetic burned and the scars ached. If he were home he’d barricade himself in the workroom to sleep off whatever shit he was coming down with, but there wasn’t anywhere to escape to here. He was stuck, like it or not - and he didn’t. Not at all.

Not safe to be sick. Not safe to be weak. Not when just anyone could take advantage. Alarms were buzzing in his brain, warning. He needed to get away, find a hiding hole. Can’t though, he told himself. Roadhog’d follow. Roadie’d protect him. That’s what he was being paid for, right? Right.

O’course he could just off ya while yer laid low - a whisper through the buzz. Take the whole thing for himself. What’s 50% when you could have 100%?

He wouldn’t. There were plenty of times he could have just left me to the tender mercy of the bounty hunters. Plenty of times.

Times where it wouldn’t have left him open to being caught too?

Junkrat tugged his hair. He wasn’t so sure, suddenly. Wasn’t sure at all, matter of fact. He had to keep it together, just until they got back. Just until he could lock himself away and be safe. He took a breath, drawing his scattered thoughts back to himself, pulling in the pieces. Remember the explosions, remember the fire and the ash. Remember the force of the blasts. Remember.

When he raised his head, he was relieved to see Roadhog’s attention on the chopper. He had it opened up and was working on some part or another. “C..can you f..fix it?” Even though he tried to clench his jaws, Junkrat’s teeth chattered on the words. He was fucking freezing.

“Think so.” Roadhog looked up, and for the first time in a long time, the blankness of the mask made Junkrat shudder. Guessing games aside, there was no way to tell what he was thinking under there. No way to tell if he was impatient, angry, worse. Junkrat swallowed. He’d left the frag launcher on the bike, and he was out of grenades. In a hands-on battle, there was no question of the outcome. Roadhog could snap him like a twig.

“You okay, Rat?”

“R..right as, m..mate.” As if to prove himself a liar, a sneeze ripped through him before he was able to even try to stifle it. “_Ahhrishh-isshaa!_” 

“Bless…”

“_Ahrishh-ishh! Ah’ishhaa!_” Junkrat covered his face with his hands, wishing he could disappear, that the force of the sneezes actually had blown him apart, rather than just feeling like it had.

“Bless you, Jamison.” Roadhog’s voice was unaccountably gentle.

“No. N..no! Fuck you.” Junkrat sniffed against the urge to sneeze again, wrapped his arms around himself and glared at Roadhog.

“Not usually the response to a blessing, but ok.” Roadhog sat back on his heels.

“Don’t n...need blessings,” he spat the word like it tasted bad. “And d...don’t call me that.”

“...”

“‘M not Jamison. Junkrat.” When they came for his arm, _Jamison_ let them take it. He let them take his leg. When the radiation sickness had him puking up his guts, Jamison cried for his mommy. Jamison had no idea what it took to survive in this irradiated wasteland. But Junkrat did. Junkrat knew all sorts of things, like how to build bombs that only blew up what he wanted them to. Like how to break into banks, and out again before they caught you. Like how to find the good shit and hold it tight, fight tooth and nail to keep it. Junkrat knew how to thrive.

“I know who you are. And you know who I am.” Roadie’s voice rumbled deep and calm.

Junkrat bit his lips. Right, yes. He knew. But… but the fire that burned through his blood...the fire didn’t know.“I just… there’s… something wrong,” he admitted, shaking.

Roadhog slowly stood. Junkrat ducked his head unwilling to watch because now that he’d said the words, now that he admitted weakness, he knew what was coming. He held himself tense, bracing for the pain.

When warmth enveloped his body instead, it took a solid minute for him to understand what the hell was happening. Slowly his muscles loosened - almost against his will. It was the smell that had him open his eyes, lift his head. Leather, gunpowder, and underneath a hint of sweat. Roadie’d wrapped him in his jacket, and the leather still held the warmth of his body. Rat’s brain fizzled, alarms short-circuiting. He frowned.

Roadie crouched in front of him, close enough to touch, but not doing so. He didn’t say anything, just let it tick over in Junkrat’s mind.

What was his angle? Was he trying to get Rat’s defenses down? Get him to trust first? But why? Roadhog knew he was vulnerable already. No weapons. No energy.

“Don’t get ya,” Junkrat said, slowly. “Don’t make no sense. Isn’t the way this works.” He _knew_ the way it worked. You get sick, you get weak, you get wiped off the map. No room for mistakes. And he was going to fucking sneeze again. Urgh, he preferred explosions outside his body.

“Bloody f.._huh_..fu.._huh_..cking … hell!” The sneeze backed off, leaving his eyes watering, breath hitching. He rubbed at the tears with rough fists.

“Told you you’d get sick.” There was a rumble of laughter under the words.

“Shut it, mate. Next time I’ll leave ya to suffer without my tender ministrations.”

“No good deed goes unpunished. There’s tissues in the pocket.”

Junkrat yanked a couple out, buried his face just in time for the sneezes to rally. “_Ahh… Ah’rishh-issh! … Arrissh!... Ah-issha_!” They were rough, scraping against his throat and making him cough.

Suddenly he felt Roadie’s hand on his back, steadying him. “You took care of me when I was sick,” Roadhog pointed out.

“‘S different.” Junkrat said, still hiding in the tissues and trying to decide if he was done sneezing.

“How.”

For the second time in as many minutes, Rat found himself without words. He was _never_ without words. But Hog’s hand had moved to his head, stroking through his hair, and he wanted to melt into the sensation of being touched so gently. He closed his eyes, let his head fall forward onto his arms again. “B’cause I care about ya,” he mumbled into his knees.

“Idiot.”

Rat prickled, but Hog was still rubbing his head and instead of the argument he meant to put forth he yawned.

“Sleep, Rat. I’ll fix the bike and we can go home.”

Junkrat nodded, pulling Roadhog’s jacket tighter around himself. Just as he was about to drift off, he heard Hog say, “I care about you, too.”


End file.
